Like The Unlikely
by Zarafla Kirtan-Pherrin
Summary: After a year from the death of Voldemort, Harry notices an unsettling occurrence that a certain blond seems to be wherever he happens to be. Is it an obsession to hurt him-as Harry believes it to be? Or another kind of obsession?
1. Interrogation

_Author's Note:__ I, Dante __Pherrin__, with all of my wistful thinking, do not-unfortunately-own anything Harry Potter except for my creativity and wit with somewhat changing subject matter on their personalities. It is perhaps advised to those who are not supportive of __yaoi__, yuri__, or __hentai__ based stories to please not take time to read something they are uncomfortable with. I do not wish those subject to attack my work because they did not heed my warning that this contains twisted humor, macabre thoughts of the JK Rowling characters, sickly spun satire, and-OH YES, my favorite-HD SLASH! If you don't know what slash is, children, I suggest you ask mum and daddy to tell you because I reserve the right to plea the fifth on that__. For you HARRY/DRACO fans…Enjoy! __Reviews of any kind-except for anonymous ones-are welcome.__ One last thing: Don't sue. __'Tis__ not worth your time._

_Disclaimer: None of the characters or places mentioned are not my ideas except for Harry's, Ron's, Hermione's, and Draco's apartments, flats, complexes, and suites. JK Rowling owns the rest. _

_Rating: R (Not suitable for children with sick, perverted minds under the age 16… Then again, like you're going to heed my warning…) Contains lots of HD SLASH!_

_Information: This all takes place after Hogwarts and the big war and the death of __Voldemort__, of course. Sorry, I can't be creative with what the original books can provide with. _

Like The Unlikely

Chapter 1-Interrogation

It was about mid-June with the sun banking in the sky, char-broiling the occupants of central London. Everyone knew that the season would only get hotter, for the drought had lasted so far now. Rain did proceed to pour down, if only in little, slight gusts. But that wouldn't be until the end of August. The western skies were a pale robin's-egg blue with insignificant clouds raiding in the south. The unbearable humidity and lack of reassuring wind only collaborated with the civilians' unified insistences of light attire.

Inconspicuously, a tall, lanky youth with wild black hair and emerald green eyes and a faint scar on his brow strolled down an unremarkable avenue on an impulse of searching out his destination. Despite the warm weather, his long overcoat flapped unenthusiastically behind him like a mourning specter as the eighteen year old pushed up his round glasses to his eyes. He kept one hand in his black khakis, running a forefinger along the reassuring grainy texture of his phoenix tail-feather wand. The boy's pale skin only reflected how much his complexion must be sun-starved from his usual voluntary house arrest. It was only through Ron Weasely and Hermione Granger that he had been imposed to leave his one bedroom apartment in downtown London with the threat of being dragged out at five in the morning in his pajamas.

Harry sighed. The dry air about choked his lungs as a car speedily drove by. It was only for his not wanting to be discovered and impended with never-ending questions by the wizarding world that he chose to hide out in muggle London. It actually soothed him to be away from them all. He was just as unremarkable as the flagstones underneath his dress shoes in the muggle world. Harry was free to remain unnoticed and uncared for. No one to search him out; no one to bother him… Except for his friends that bombarded him with letters every so often through Hedwig to see how he was. And how he was… Well, not even he was sure of how he was doing. He was too preoccupied in his thoughts and his job as an Auror, the only connection to the wizarding community he had, and it kept him busy enough.

And now, Hermione and Ron (Hermione mainly) had interrupted his seemingly quiet retreatment from the world and had made him promise to meet them at Hermione's flat in central London, which was about six miles from his complex. He blew the hair out of his eyes and continued onward. Harry had one more mile to go, knowing the way there very well. He had refused to travel by Floo Powder and he didn't want attention on himself in the peaceful muggle community if he decided to travel by broom. Harry was still uncomfortable with Appirating, so he rejected the idea. Travelling by muggle transportation such as the bus or a taxi didn't quite suit him (yes-he's very picky this day), so he had decided to walk all the way there. The black-haired youth had thought that he needed fresh air and atleast some time to recollect his muddled mind together so the idea of walking all the way there appealed to him.But he still wasn't happy at the thought of getting his brain examined by an over-worried Hermione. In fact, he wasn't even happy at the thought of meeting with his two best friends at all.

It wasn't the fact that he didn't like them anymore. Far from it. He was confused as to why as much as they would've been if he told them he wasn't inclined on meeting with them, since an explanation to his self-induced exile eluded him, but he felt that he couldn't face anyone that he knew and cared for most in the world. It sounded like guilt in his own mind; then again, what wasn't guilt that didn't come out of his head these days? Voldemort was long dead and his followers were locked up or on the run in hiding, too weak to carry on what their master had wanted them to accomplish. Shouldn't Harry be relieved, if not happy?

Something weighed deep on his conscious, like a thick, suffocating veil of darkness and wallowing depression. A pinprick of regret had wormed its way into the equation, making Harry feel somewhat worse. What was this feeling of vacancy? He continued on his way, shaking his head. Litter swathed the sidewalks as he passed brick buildings and establishments of business. The heat was making him swelter, but he didn't notice, too void of consciousness to notice. To any passersby, they would think he was to only be found on another plane of existence the way he dragged his steps, like some restless victim of supernatural terrors...

Suddenly, a lump hatched in his throat, choking him. Tears almost broke free from him again. Last night, he couldn't help it. But among people, he had to hold onto them with a tight leash. Not in public... He didn't need anyone to stop and take notice of him. He didn't need the sympathy. Not the pity... He had to control it, keep it inside. For someone's concern in him was the absolute last thing he needed.

Harry wrapped his thin arms around himself, pulling the overcoat tighter like a clamp, and walked at a brisker pace so in case if he did break down, no one would see the lamentation.He was close to Hermione's place anyway, so he felt the need to get this confrontation with her and Ron over with. All he wanted was to get back to his one bedroom apartment and go back to bed. The memory of warm blankets and a firm mattress made him breathe just a touch easier. If only sleep came to him that simply... But the ability to lie there and have his eyes shut comforted him only slightly. He couldn't sleep much at all. Even with the thick, dark red curtains drawn over his ten foot high window that made his room glow an eerily blood-stained darkness and with over-stuffed feather pillows that piled high around his queen-sized bed to smother him in a dark purple shadow in the small depression in the middle of the bed that wasn't taken over by pillows didn't lull him to sleep anymore. Since his depression began, he had went out and bought about twenty pillows of all shapes and sizes, to the bewilderment of a salesclerk, and a king-sized dark blue padded quilt an inch thick. The thing draped and had covered his floor around his bed as he remembered it. At that thought, he became nostalgic for it. To hide underneath all his pillows and fall into his blanket sounded like a good idea at the moment. Instead, he made his way up the concrete stairs to Hermione's flat, which was a squat building, half-covered in brown dried moss.

The metal railing that outlined the stairs was rough and blistering hot in the afternoon heat, but Harry hardly noticed it burning his skin. He seemed invincible to sensation-even less to pain. He walked along the tiny catwalk around the building and came to a door with a brass plaque above it that read the number 173. He rapped his knuckles on the soft wood of the white door and shifted his weight against the railing behind him as he stood, waiting. A shuffling of feet sounded from within and a loud curse from a male voice as a loud clatter hit unseen tile floors near the inside of the door. Harry smirked as he distinctly heard Hermione scold Ron for knocking something over, but he only awarded himself that smile for a brief second as he sobered when bushy brown hair peeked out from the opening door.

The next thing Harry knew was being almost tossed over the railing as the eighteen year old wide-eyed girl in a lavender blouse, sky-blue tie, and tight pinstripe pants wrapped desperate arms around his torso. After the bear-hug, a red-headed, freckled boy in an ironed pre-tailored, yet distinctly second-hand, suit smiled sheepishly from the other side of the threshold as he leaned against the door way. To Harry, it seemed time did not lavish Ron with any different look except for an increase in his height and an odd taste in clothes to be working in his dad's department at the ministry. The same went for the anxious Hermione in front of him. She seemed to not have aged a day since last year. And to his perspective, she seemed to have gotten shorter. In that case, he knew he had grown about two inches over the summer. But he could never beat Ron's record of growing three and a quarter inches every summer since they first met.

"Come in, Harry! We've been waiting so long to see you!" Hermione ushered him inside, grabbing his wrist and stepping around Ron in a flourish.

Ron laughed a little, and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Good to see you again, mate. Hermione's been unbearable without you around, dragging on how you should visit more often." He rolled his eyes and closed the door after his friend.

"Gee, thanks Ron." Hermione drawled sarcastically as she waved her wand to fetch cups from the cupboard and begin to pour tea magically from the teapot on the stove. "Glad to know that I'm unbearable."

Harry smiled and responded. "Sarcasm doesn't really suit your complexion, 'Mione."

Ron theatrically feigned surprise and pretended to drop on an overstuffed chair in the living room in shock. "My God! He speaks!" Harry picked up a throw pillow from the couch and teasingly chucked it at him.

It was when he had picked up the pillow that he noticed Hermione's place for the first time. The walls were pristine white with a few pictures hanging from the walls of her family and a single picture hanging above the couch of her, Harry, and Ron waving and wrapping arms over each others shoulders. He remembered last year and when she had asked Collin Creevey to take the picture for her. She then had enchanted it herself so the occupants of the portrait actually moved, reflecting the mood of them when the picture was taken. The Ron in the picture had held a butterbeer in his free hand and was now gulping from it. The couch that lurked underneath it was peach in color and was overstuffed like the matching chairs across the glass coffee table from it. The pillows also matched. The carpet of the living room was elephant gray and a couple plants sat in corners of the room, one on either side of the fireplace, that looked like they came from Professor Sprouts' greenhouses at Hogwarts. One had red leaves on it and it waved in a non-existent breeze. The other was tall and dark green and the vines that grew outward from it covered the corner in which it occupied. The vines occasionally grew another centimeter and perched its small leaves over the mantlepiece, reminding Harry of someone who'd casually lean against it in conversation. The sight of the unrecognizeable plant unnerved him a bit. Against the wall where the overstuffed chairs and Ron sat, an oak bookshelf full of numerous spell books and Lockhart's infamous autographed "autobiographies" (sitting on the top shelf) took up most of the wall. Harry had noted that he had seen two more smaller bookshelves in the main hallway full of muggle fictions and even more spell books.

'Just how many books does Hermione have?' Harry asked himself increduously.

At that minute, Hermione waved her wand in the clean, white, uncluttered kitchen and sent the cups of steaming tea, complete with saucers and biscuits on a tray, zooming into the room and settling itself onto the coffee table. Taking this as cue, Harry sat on the couch. Hermione came out and sat on the other overstuffed chair next to Ron's and picked up her cup. Ron followed suit wordlessly. They both kept their eyes trained on him as if he was a circus freak, ready to do a trick. It made Harry shift uncomfortably and he grabbed his tea and gulped it, suddenly regretting it. It had scalded his already parched mouth into flames. He set his cup back down. The tension in the air made him think of him being the mentally disturbed patient in a psychologist's office. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"So when's the interrogation going to begin?" He asked skeptically. He didn't mean it to be harsh, but he also didn't care to give them an apologetic look either. He lifted the collar of his overcoat to cover half his face, sat back, and crossed his legs with his arm perched on an armrest on his right side instead in that dramatically foreboding way.

They weren't intimidated and weren't amused with his tone either.

"Mate," Ron started, a bit surprised with his friend's immediate change in attitude, "what makes you think this is an interrogation? We wanted to see you, that's all." He sipped his tea and bit into a biscuit, spraying bits of it on his lap as he talked. "You know...just to catch up and talk about all the things we've all been up to?"

'So this is interrogation without using the word interrogation...Interesting...' Harry mused to himself, his anger quick to rise. Hermione seemed to read his mind and shot him a look of warning and venom.

He only adopted an expressionless gaze to send back to her and then turned his attention back to the freckle-faced boy. "I've been alright."

"Okay..." Ron ventured cautiously, picking his words carefully, "That's good. How's work been?"

These seemingly simple questions enraged him. It was frustrating to converse in such a manner when he knew and they knew that this wasn't about small talk. It was about whether he was going nutters yet. It was about what happened to his psyche after their seventh year. It was about what caused him to lock himself up mentally as well as physically. It was about... loneliness... It was eventually going to be about him and Ginny...

He didn't want that to happen. He loved her, or so he thought, in that way. But as every day had passed since their seventh year, he second guessed his feelings for her. Sure, he cared for her and wanted her to be safe, but it wasn't the same infatuation with her anymore. He had grown-did he dare think the word willingly-bored with his feelings for her. He hadn't grown bored with her in particular, but had grown bored with the feeling of loving in that way altogether.He wasn't interested in pursuing a life partner, a wife, a girlfriend even. He only had time for work and resting-not really sleeping-nowadays. He hardly ate and when he did, it was something small.

Harry hardly bought food and the last time that Ron and Hermione were over, which was about less than a year ago before he abandoned the outside world from his attentions besides work at the ministry-in which he kept to himself there mainly anyway-his friends flipped out at the lack of food in his pantries and fridge that they left for a couple hours and came back with piles of food that would last him for a month or so and scolded him, forcing him to promise them that he'd buy food and eat. They didn't anticipate on that he found a loop hole and only bought food whenever he felt like getting out of bed on his off days-which was hardly ever-and only ate as much as his stomach would allow. In that case, he barely ate his food and just picked at it for an hour and threw the rest out. But then he had resolved to eating maybe something to the likeness of, for example, a bowl of soup or two slices of bread a day.

But his friends never found out about those particular instances when he began his "dead-to-the-world" disappearance act last year. It had only been lately that they had owled him and made sure that Hedwig nipped his fingers to welts to make sure that he wrote back to them instead of ignoring their letters like in the years previous before.

But here and now, they kept searching glances on him, checking his lean frame to make sure that bones didn't grow out of his body instead of in it.

"Work's been work. Still searching for Notte, unfortunately. Our main priority at the moment." Harry added, picking up his tea again and slurping another generous amount into his mouth to the approval of Hermione.

"Still no sign of him, eh?" Ron nervously mumbled, playing with the corner of a throw pillow. "Well, I'm sure you'll catch him soon enough. I mean, you killed Voldemort. How hard can it be for you to find a follower?" He went on that optomistic track. "I'm sure you'll have that bloke put in Azkaban by the end of the month, Harry." Ron smiled and took another biscuit from the tray like as if he won a debate.

Hermione pipped up at last. She must've been not able to stand the uncomfortable awkwardness of the conversation and would've exploded if she didn't say something to end the tranquility.

"Have you been eating properly at home?"

"Yes." He snapped.

"Have you talked to anyone lately besides us? Like Tonks, or Lupin, or Mrs. Weasely?" She spoke quickly. "Or Ginn-?"

"No!" He interrupted before she could speak the name he didn't want to hear, for guilt had started to writhe like hungry snakes around his heart and lungs again.

"Harry..." She seemed on the verge of tears. "What's wrong with you lately?"

Ron supressed a groan. 'Here we go again...'

"Nothing."

"Harry, please be reasonable. You've been avoiding the wizarding world and everybody in it like the plague. We have to force you to see us. You hardly sleep. You don't eat. You work all the time, and like a zombie, Mr. Weasely had noted when he finally got the first glimpse of you at the ministry-"

An old memory, much like a festering battle scar, erupted within him and he exploded like a cornered wolf. "If Mr. Weasely has something to say to me, he can come to me and say so if he damn well pleases and not behind my back!"

Ron stood out of his seat, fists balled. "Don't speak about my father that way." He snarled.

"If he wants to refer to me as an unpleasant, fetid dead thing, I see no problem in requesting that he should atleast have the decency and the balls to confront me with it!"

"Harry, you've been avoiding everyone. How can you expect him to confront-?"

Hermione didn't have time to finish her thought. Ron had already yelled a battle cry and jumped over the table and at Harry, knocking over his half-full cup and spilling its contents out on the carpet. The brawl began as the infuriated red-head impacted his knuckles on his friend's jaw. The boy with the unruly hair toppled off the couch and kicked out at Ron's shin as they rolled out on the floor.

After sustaining a black eye and bruised shin and sprained shoulder on Ron's account and Harry sustaining a pulled arm muscle and a cut lip and a couple broken ribs, Hermione had enough sense, after yelling at them while they wrestled, to take out her wand and fling each one of the men into opposite walls so they stopped moving but not enough so they were still conscious.

"Enough of this nonsense! This is my house and I will NOT tolerate you two fighting like a couple of starved dogs over a bone! What would Dumbledore say? You should be ashamed!!!" She scolded, not sounding different from Mrs. Weasely when she would scold her sons. Hermione waved her wand and repaired the smashed cup and waved her wand again and vanished the spilled tea.

Both boys finally recollected themselves and sat back down as the angry witch took the cups and tray to the kitchen, muttering to herself, the word "unbelievable" escaping coherently from her quiet ranting after every other curse.

After five minutes of uneasy silence, she came back into the room and plunked herself down on her chair.

"Apologize." She said vehemently. "Both of you."

Reluctantly, Harry sighed and looked up at Ron, who had avoided his gaze and concentrated on massaging his eye. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to attack your dad like that." Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. He added, "And I'm sorry for hitting you. I'm sorry for being a prat."

Ron remained quiet. Hermione turned her icy death stare at him. Ron felt the stare like it was a laser and looked back at Harry with glowering, but it had begun to die down when his best friend apologized to him. "Apology accepted."

Hermione raised her wand threateningly.

"And I'm sorry for pummeling you like that."

"Apology accepted."

They both sat there, looking into each other's eyes, not moving or speaking another word as the brunette observed them closely. It was Harry, who finally penetrated the pregnant pause.

"You got me real good there, mate." He chuckled softly. "You been working out?"

Ron smiled smugly, arms folded over his chest. "Maybe a little. But I have to admit, you got me clobbered up quite a bit, too."

Harry laughed aloud this time, but doubled over in pain as his ribs vibrated painfully.

"You okay?" Ron rushed to his side, worried.

Letting his ribs go, Harry continued to laugh despite his wincing. " I'll be fine. Like I said, you threw in a good couple of punches."

"Well, you have some mean kicks to you." The red-head rubbed his shin absently. He then clapped a hand on the black-haired youth's shoulder.

Hermione, who had been spectating the entire time, jumped to her feet and half-cried, half-smiled, "You both are so helplessly stupid!" And she hugged them both and went back to her kitchen, almost in a fit of sobs.

"Mental, that one." Ron stared after her.

"Yeah."

Silence grew between them. Then Ron helped Harry to his feet and had whispered so faintly that Harry almost didn't hear, in which he thought he wasn't supposed to hear anyway, because to his surprise it happened to be something he least expected to hear coming from the youngest son of the Weasely family, "God, I love her..."

Author's Note: What you think? Please R&R! I know it's my first time doing a fanfic, but I think I did alright for my attempt. There's more to come in chapter 2, which I will provide ASAP! Look for the chapter: Is It Possible..? Again, please let me know what you think of it! I'm just a poor guy who needs the advice of fellow fanfic authors and fanfic fans!!!


	2. Is It Possible?

_Author's Note:_ _Again, like I said, not my idea except for the plot of this story and changes in personalities of the characters. And Tony Dubhin is my idea. So, again, don't sue!_

Chapter 2:Is It Possible..?

Within the recesses of the crowded night club, the tall, handsome blond in a black turtleneck with no sleeves and black jeans made his way across the bar, tying on a white apron, and surveyed his jostled customers that shouted their orders in a din slightly above the loud techno to a straight-backed Irishman to his right. The man with curly black hair, brown eyes, stocky complexion, dark beard and dragon tattoos wasn't fazed a bit by the crowd, but mixed drinks expertly, whilst flipping the vessels in the air to mix them as well as to show off, and handed them to the right customers without receiving a single complaint.

It was Draco Malfoy's third night in the business and he was nervous! It was a Saturday night and was his first time witnessing the night club getting to a tight fit. Drinks were in high demand and the ravers and party-goers were restless. Malfoy knew the right measurement for each drink available at the bar and knew he could and did mix them well, but it was the amount of people shouting their orders that had him feel claustrophobic. He had just started work this night about five minutes in and he was already getting hot and tongue-tied.

He paid no heed to look anyone in the eyes, but just listened to the orders as coherently as possible and fixed them fast, not bothering with tricks and entertainment. Tony Dubhin was the one who could claim the spotlight tonight. Malfoy didn't care. All he wanted to do was to get the massive tide of muggles served so he could breathe again.

Club Spazztic wasn't really the place he wanted to work at, but he had no other alternative. Being that his father died-although he wouldn't have cared because he truly had no respect for the man since Lucius sold himself as a pet to the Dark Lord a year ago-everyone in the wizarding world believed that Draco had something to do with the war. Truth be told, he didn't. But who would believe him afterall? His parents were die hard fans of Voldemort and his followers. Wouldn't their pampered son be most-likely following in their foot steps?

Malfoy had always detested his parents and his lineage. And he did everything in his power to try to branch off "family tradition" for years. But one thing always remained when he went to Hogwarts. He was placed in Slytherin. Malfoy didn't mention that in that split second his first year, when it seemed that the hat didn't even have to touch him to know where to place him among the houses, the hat had whispered that it could always place him in Ravenclaw. Malfoy, all those years ago, had refused in that split second. He had wanted to not disappoint his parents and go with his own desires. Instead, he unwillingly gave in when it chose Slytherin for him. Of every deed he did to win favor with Snape and Umbridge and everything evil he did to his classmates and peers, he felt regret.

Strange for a Malfoy to feel regret, but he did. Maybe just a little. But he felt it there nonetheless. But the thing he felt more passionately regretful for though, was his treatment towards Harry Potter all those years.

He didn't know why, but he was somewhat certain that it might be because he felt connected to The-Boy-Who-Lived. Not only that, he admired his bravery and guile.

Then, an unlikely thought appeared to his mind. Was it possible that he might have admired Potter too much? Was it possible that he cared for him; even perhaps felt compassion for that dark-haired savior? His breath caught when Malfoy passed a bloody mary to a colorfully-dressed girl at the bar.

His eyes widened as he gripped the counter for support at the thought that was brewing in his mind began to take his imagination and beliefs into a spin of clarity. It felt like he was actually living life for the first time. His throat constricted...

Was it possible that Draco Alezander Malfoy began to like, maybe even fell in love, with Harry James Potter?

_Author's Note: Yes, you read correctly. Draco's middle name is not Alexander, but Alezander. I always thought that name was fascinating so I decided to use it. Sorry that this chapter is short. Well, feel free to R&R! As always, thank you for reading. More is still to come. And I'll make sure to write more and be more creative. This chapter I wrote when I was sick, so it's not as creative as I wanted it to be. Again, accept my apologies-and look forward to Ch. 3: Second Chances!_


	3. Second Chances

Author's Note: I do not own anything Harry Potter, except for Tony Dubhin and the personalities varying from the JK Rowling ch

_Author's Note: I do not own anything Harry Potter, except for Tony Dubhin and the personalities varying from the JK Rowling characters. I'm only borrowing them for my story! Nothing more! Don't sue!!_

Chapter 3: Second Chances!

Dusk began settling in with its cold dark coat as Harry rode the bus back home that evening. A kind of tranquility blossomed all over him as he thought of the idea his friends had come up with before he left Hermione's apartment. Ron had pipped up that they should go all meet up next week and go to a club, away from work and the wizarding world. Just the three of them.

Now Harry had at first protested to this and said that he had a lot of work to do at the Auror's office at the Ministry, which was an excuse to keep his self-imposed isolation. He had no choice, however, than to accept the invitation when the brunette witch's eyes glowed darkly and her wand, clutched in her right hand, began to fizz and spark dangerously. He knew better than to say no. This was all just to get him into talking and interacting again; he knew it.

But it had been settled. They were all going to meet up at Hermione's apartment next week around 7:30 to go clubbing.The tranquility that now spread throughout Harry was that, in fact, he felt somewhat relieved. This gave him a second chance at being himself again! Maybe this upcoming week would prove to be worth it afterall. He sighed and sat back against the grey seat of the bus, comforted by what little warmth the bus provided.

Wind with its serated ice fingers clawed outside the bus windows as it rolled itself along the road next to the Thames. An old man sneezed into a handkerchief two seats away from Harry. He began to doze off in his seat; the ride home was still 20 minutes from done and there was a stop in the beginning of the business district that would come up soon.

Draco stood at the bus stop on the corner of Thames Avenue a quarter after ten, shivering in the blistering cold. A moon that paled compared to him stood sentinel over London, making Malfoy shiver even more as he stared at it. The bus ride would be a long one indeed. His studio would then welcome him with its sinister interior, but thankfully it was at this moment basking in heat against the cold this night with the four space heaters he had bought last week when he had come home one evening to find it unbearably chilly.

His thin arms dug deep in the pockets of his jeans. He had forgotten his coat at home, as it was 98 degrees earlier today. The days seemed to get only warmer as summer continued on relentlessly. Draco only became more prone to forgetting that the nights were terribly the opposite of the afternoons.

He sneezed. The sound of his bus was on its way, the blank headlights blinding him momentarily from down the street. Finally! He was going to get on the bus, go home, get inside his warm studio, and make some chamomile tea and forget about his thoughts from this evening...

There'd be no way he could ever have a second chance at repairing all that he damaged with Potter. Now way... He sighed as he stepped onto the dark bus and paid his fair. Malfoy sat down on a seat facing a dark haired boy in an overcoat that was sleeping with his head laying against the window...

_Author's Note:__ I just love cliff hangers, don't you? smirk R&R like always, my dear fans!! Oh my, what will happen next?! Find out more by waiting for Ch.4: Thrice The Charm... Sorry for the short chapter... T.T I will make longer chapters... I promise!_


	4. Nighttime Wishes

Author's Note: I do not own anything Harry Potter, except for Tony Dubhin and the personalities varying from the JK Rowling ch

_Author's Note: I do not own anything Harry Potter, except for Tony Dubhin and the personalities varying from the JK Rowling characters. I'm only borrowing them for my story! Nothing more! Don't sue!!_

Chapter 4: Nighttime Wishes

As Draco sat back in the seat of the chilly bus that would take him to his studio, he let his mind wander…

What would it be like if he had the chance to meet up with Harry Potter once again?

He sighed and continued to look out the bus window as it began to pull away from the curb. The blond rubbed his arms roughly, in a hopeless attempt to warm himself; he left his wand back home, as usual. Just when he needed it most, it was stowed away in the drawer of his bedside table in the warm apartment. He could've used it to put a warming charm on himself by now, instead of waiting for the hardly cozy bus to pull up! He pouted as he then looked across at the man in the overcoat-suddenly getting very envious-who dozed with his head on the glass. It was hard to live as a muggle… How can muggles stand to live this way? It was pathetic!

It was then, in the dim of the almost-vacant bus, that Draco noticed that a wand poked out of the man's pocket as the vehicle turned sharply to the left.

His eyes widened. A wizard! What was a wizard doing out here in muggle London? Well-then again-he should've asked himself a long time ago why he himself was doing out here… But it was odd. He hardly saw any witches and wizards, if none, this far away from Diagon Alley. Most were actually either out in the far country, or they lived near or in the wizarding communities. He slumped his shoulders and sighed again. Well, it wasn't unusual nowadays to find a witch or wizard out on their luck with money and seeing them have to make a living out in muggle society just to scrape by. Like himself…

When his father was founded as a Voldemort supporter and put in Azkaban (then later killed), his mother was eventually found in hiding (to Draco's disgust of her cowardice), and was taken prisoner as well. But not Draco. He refused to let himself be linked with a couple of cowardly idiots such as his parents and turned himself in to the Ministry just about a year ago.

During that time of being imprisoned at the Ministry, he encouraged them to use Veritaserum and all other sorts of potions and methods to truth-telling and getting his full account of whether he was a Dark Lord apprentice or not. After many months of grueling speculation and repeating his story to the Minister, they founded him not guilty of any activities that involved him with Death Eaters and the like. So he was free to go, no charges pressed.

But even though he was founded not guilty within the courts, it didn't mean everyone was willing to believe him, no matter what he went through to prove his own innocence. He was still hated for his family ties and for his treatment of a lot of people when he went to Hogwart's. It didn't matter to them. In their eyes, he was no better than his father.

During the time he spent when he had been taken custody within the courts, however, his money, possessions, heirlooms, and home were taken from him to be auctioned off to whatever rich families were left. So when he got out, he had nothing except the money he had on him when he first went to turn himself in. He went homeless for a month.

It was after that time that Draco decided that he had no choice but to become one with the muggles in the lowly back streets of London. He had converted his wizard money into pounds at Gringott's before he left so he could start off someplace and pay for his food and shelter. And only according to his fellow witches and wizards, he vanished, never to return. Some say he even died of starvation in the streets of Knockturn Alley, begging for food.

Well, that was their account of what happened to the last Malfoy heir. He didn't care. His only concerns now were the daily struggles of survival and that distant, glimmering hope that he'd see Potter again and tell him that he was sorry and that he had fallen almost desperately in love with him.

Draco woke with a start, having noticed that he had fallen asleep, when he realized that the bus stopped and the monotone voice of the driver called out "Shirewood Parkway". The wizard in front of him stretched, got up, yawned, and started making his way off the bus. But that's not what made Malfoy stop and stare at him in disbelief. It was that the supposed stranger had unruly dark hair, round glasses, and a faint scar on his forehead.

He had unknowingly been sitting across from the one person he had been anxious to meet for almost what had seemed forever. Harry Potter had just gotten off the bus.

Draco almost thought he'd died from the shock and because he had held in his breath for so long… He gulped in air, desperate to breathe so he'd be able to keep that name locked in his memory. "Shirewood Parkway". He now knew were he lived. At least… he hoped that's were he lived…

Just as the bus shut it's doors, Draco stood and pulled open a window, the night lashing his face cold and red with it's stinging bullets of rain. He saw a gray shadow walk along the misty sidewalk in the opposite direction of where the bus was heading. Desperate, he inhaled as much air as he could and wildly called after the wizard of his dreams.

"HARRY!!" But by the time the bus rounded the corner, the blond slunk back through the window, defeat eminent in his eyes. He knew it was too late. Burning tears carved tracks down his ivory, porcelain face, like he was a concrete angel that wept in dismay for eternity, forever captured by the sculpture's chisel.

He didn't know when he'd ever have a chance like that in a million lifetimes. If only he would've figured it out as soon as he saw the wand sticking out of Harry's trench coat pocket. He wished he would've woken the sleeping wizard across from him to see who it was then. He shook his head at the thought. _Idiot…_

Even if Malfoy knew who it was that sat in front of him, he wouldn't have woken him up and announced himself to his former archnemesis. He knew that there would've only been hatred in those startling green eyes. Potter would've put a hex on him, or worse, killed him. There was a bounty on his head already, posted up nearly everywhere in Knockturn Alley and in the shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. No doubt the surviving Weasley twin wanted him dead as much as anyone else in the wizarding world.

As soon as he got in the door of his flat, Harry walked wraith-like to his bedroom and threw himself on his bed, slightly bouncing as he came into contact with all the overstuffed pillows that covered his mattress. A few of the smaller pillows spilled out from underneath the quilt that sheltered his bed, hitting the hardwood floor with several soft _plop_s.

He moaned in exhaustion, wanting sleep to take him into it's welcoming embrace. But it was never meant to be. He just simply could not sleep this night, like every night for the past several months.

Growling in frustration, seeing as sleep would not allow him through it's blissful doors, he scrambled across the hills of cushions and reached his bedside table. Not bothering with the lamp, Harry scrambled through the drawer in the semi-darkness and closed his fist over a small bottle. Ambian. This should knock him out for a few hours.

_Sleeping pills: the wonderful creation that the muggles had come up with as his lifesaver._ He allowed himself a small smile.

He unscrewed the cap and tilted the opening onto his hand, only letting two of the pills escape the confines of the bottle. The man with the unruly hair put the cap back on, swallowed the pills whole without water, and dropped the rest of the pills in the drawer. Forgetting to close it, he rolled over onto his back and closed his sleep-deprived, bruised eyes, waiting for the drug-induced sleep to kick in.

But his mind had to wander for a moment on the very confusing situation that had occurred when he had gotten off the bus only moments before…

He had been walking back to his apartment, sluggishly making progress in the rainstorm, when he heard his name being shouted faintly through the cutting wind. Harry had looked back over his shoulder to see the red bus taking off… as well as someone's head going back in from an open window. It was dark, so he was unsure, but he thought he had seen that the person had bleach blond, spiky hair.

Just as he was about to wonder further about the mysterious encounter, his eyelids began to droop. Without further ado, Harry was all too happy to oblige the pills' control on his consciousness. He forgot about the encounter as he finally began to fall in a dreamless sleep.

_Author's Note: And so! Two chapters for you, my fellow readers! R&R as always, and I'll be sure to post up the next chapter a little more quickly before I go to my granddad's here in Montana next weekend. (I'm on vacation!) So just look out for the next chapter, __Thrice The Charm__!_


	5. Thrice The Charm

_Author's Note: Oh gods wow! It's been a freaking long ass time since I updated, yea? I'm so sorry! I've just been busy for the past... **** ^^; Don't kill me please? I do not own anything Harry Potter, except for Tony Dubhin and the personalities varying from the JK Rowling characters. I'm only borrowing them for my story! Nothing more! Don't sue!_

Chapter 5: Thrice The Charm

The following week flew by in a confusing blur. Draco worked at the club as usual and returned home every evening. He'd been taking extra shifts just to keep up with his rent and hadn't had a day off in eight days. But he didn't mind. Any distraction from his obvious error in letting his one chance slip by him that one evening on the bus was welcoming to him. He should have said something, confirmed that the wizard might have just possibly been the one he had been seeking.

It was all so unfair...

_No use crying over spilled potion..._ He mused.

But that thought didn't stop him from looking back and cursing himself for being a blind idiot. Not to mention, the dreams that haunted him in his sleep lately didn't dispel his desire for the raven haired wizard either. The dreams were hot; filled with hazy images of teeth, tongues, and sweat. Hearing his fantasy partner's screams of his name gave him chills. And when he woke, the blond found himself panting and erect. Those dreams were _torture..._

But now, it was Saturday again and the crowd wasn't going to serve itself, no matter how much he wanted to attempt to create a spell that would make them do so.

The blond took the martini shaker and flipped it in the air, just for the whoops and shouts of joy of the drunk customers waiting at the bar. This was too simple. It had only been nine days since he got the job, but Tony insisted that he learn some tricks so that they would get more tips. He mastered just about every one of them after five days. Draco had a knack for juggling glasses and mixers and in a weird way, it was fun, although the silly muggle tricks were beneath a Malfoy.

Then again, he wasn't a "normal Malfoy" either.

After pouring the contents of the silver container out into a martini glass and expertly sliding it down the bar to a guy with dreadlocks, he picked up a pen and notepad and pointed over to a group of women in scanty clothing.

"What will it be for you?" He yelled over the din.

"Two of your cheapest lagers and a shot o' whiskey!"

His writing became indecipherable chicken scratch within seconds as he hurried taking down the order. Putting the pen behind his ear, he slammed two heavy lager glasses down on the counter and pulled out a shot glass. Reaching under the counter, he grabbed the half bottle of whiskey and poured the dark liquid into the shot glass, splashing a bit onto the floor in his haste. Handing it over, he wrapped his hand around one large lager glass and settled it under the tap.

As he was about to hit the handle, the hairs on the back of his neck went up and a chill ran down his skin. Instinctively, Draco looked up towards the door.

Three individuals walked through the threshold, looking around the club. A lanky youth with flaming red hair and pallid, freckled skin flagged him out as the Weasel kid, who wore a black t-shirt and jeans. Next to him was the diminutive Mudblood in a red tank top and a gray skirt that reached her knees. But then there was _him..._

Black hair in a reckless, disheveled style-that Draco had pulled the other night in another of his fantasies-and green eyes peering from round glasses in curiosity. The faint, lightning bolt scar over his right eye. A tight, white button up shirt hugged his frame and black slacks wrapped around well-muscled legs. The sight made the blond bartender's mouth water.

"Oi! Draco-lad!"

Draco turned his attention to the Irishman next to him. "Would ya care ta stop gawking a' the customers over there and pay attention to the ones ya got here?"

"Sorry, Tony." He flipped the handle on the lager, filled the glasses, and handed them over to girls that were waiting. "Sorry about that, ladies. Here ya go."

"Oh, don't worry about it, cutie," One smiled, winking at him. "I don't mind staring at you for a while longer."

Another one giggled, grabbing her arm. "Let's get back on the dance floor, Ellie!"

"Bye!" Said the one that had flirted with him.

"A round of pale ale, over here!"

"Got it, sir! How many?"

~/~/~/~/~/

The trio at the door looked around the packed establishment, taking in the atmosphere of flashing lights and loud, thumping music.

"So this is what Muggles do for fun?" Ron asked Hermione.

"One of the many things they do for fun, Ron! It's just like what we witches and wizards do, just without the aid of magic!"

"Bloody hell! A bit shnockered aren't they?" The red head commented on a group that had toppled a table over in the far recesses of the club.

"It would seem so."

Harry, who hadn't been paying attention to the exchange, took in the sights and smiled. Maybe he could loosen up and have a bit of fun!

"_Oi! Draco-lad!"_

The yell from the bar caught the raven haired wizard's attention. He scanned the crowd around the bar counter and caught sight of a bleach blond man that was serving lagers. Harry's green eyes grew wide in shock.

"_Would ya care ta stop gawking a' the customers over there and pay attention to the ones ya got here?"_

It couldn't be...

Malfoy? _The_ Draco Malfoy? Working in a Muggle club?

...Didn't Malfoy _hate_ Muggles?

Harry wandered over to the bar, not really knowing what he was going to do or say when he got there...

"Hey Harry! Where are you going?" Ron called after him.

His two friends chased after him. Harry stopped at the edge of the crowd at the counter, unsure of what he was going to do. He watched his arch nemesis flip shakers and glasses into the air with perfect precision, wondering if he was using magic to make them land expertly into his hands. Well, knowing Malfoy, he probably was. But for the vile, Muggle-hating, former Slytherin to work in a Muggle club—that was just out of character and _weird._

As Malfoy took a lighter and lit the alcohol of the backdraft in the snifter. As the drink caught fire, he threw it into the air. The customers screamed and ducked for cover. But Draco spun around on the heels of his shoes and caught it without a single drop spilling. He put a lid on the cup, immediately putting the fire out but keeping the fumes inside for the intention of the drink. The congregation applauded and cheered. He seemed to enjoy himself, smiling and laughing with the other bartender. The happiness that shone through his stormy eyes came at ease. He looked almost... normal...

The platinum blond handed the drink over to a customer and began on another mixture.

"What the Hell is Malfoy doing here?" Ron asked, bewildered, next to Harry.

Harry didn't answer, but pushed his way through the crowd to find out why...

_A/N: So what do _you_ think is going to happen next? I will update this soon, I promise. :)_


	6. The Perfect Scene

_Author's Note: Oooo... What's going to happen in this next segment, I wonder? ^^ I do not own anything Harry Potter, except for Tony Dubhin and the personalities varying from the JK Rowling characters. I'm only borrowing them for my story! Nothing more! Don't sue!_

Chapter 6: The Perfect Scene

"Hey! Malfoy!"

The angry shout caught Draco unawares. He shut his eyes momentarily.

_Shit! I've been spotted..._

He turned to the trio to the left side of the bar and casually smiled at them, all the while cringing on the inside. "What'll it be for you three?"

"Don't give us that crap, _Malfoy_... What are you doing here?" The red head sneeringly questioned.

"What's it look like I'm doing, _Weasely_?" He sneered back, dropping his smile. "I'm working. Something your family should learn how to do." Some habits were hard to let go.

Before Ron could jump over the counter, Hermione and Harry held him back.

"That's a good idea. I would hold him back if I were you. Don't wanna get thrown out by our bouncer." Draco laughed, feeling worse by every minute that those green eyes looked at him with loathing.

"Let's just go somewhere else." Hermione suggested to the other two, glaring at the blond.

"What?" The young bartender called to their retreating backs. "Gonna run away, are you?"

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned around.

"Don't listen to him, Harry..." Hermione begged. "He's just trying to goad you."

"Well, then, it's working." The black haired youth snapped, making his way back to the thinning crowd at the bar.

Malfoy handed someone a mug of beer, all the while grinning maliciously at him. "Care for a drink then..._ Savior_?"

"You. Me. Outside. Now."

The blond theatrically sighed. "I would if I could, but I'm working."

"Oh yes," Harry retorted. "I forgot. You always did have someone or something covering your arse so you didn't have to get the shit knocked out of you."

Silver eyes narrowed dangerously on him.

"But then again, I do remember that one time Hermione punched your lights out our third year, though." He laughed.

"Lucky shot." The blond reasoned. "Other than that, I'd like to see the Mudblood try to get at me otherwise."

As Harry was about to leap over the counter to pummel him, a red head zoomed past him and clocked Malfoy right in the jaw. Malfoy stumbled back, clutching his bruised skin. Ron was beyond furious, his fist shaking from the impact.

"It seems that it's everyone's lucky day when you run your mouth! Call her a 'Mudblood' again, Ferret, and see what happens..." Ron stormed away from the scene, Hermione following in his wake, no doubt reprimanding him for losing his temper.

Just as Harry was about to leave, he caught sight of Malfoy standing back up, rubbing his jaw tenderly. The look in those eyes weren't full of hate, as he expected, but a confusing mix of sadness and regret. They looked to him, as if begging for forgiveness. But Harry turned away, exiting the club with his friends.

_Not only have I lost my chance, I pushed him away and insulted him and his friends... What the name of Merlin is wrong with me?_

"Draco-lad!" _Damn it to Hell!_ "What was all tha' about, eh?"

Draco turned to his boss. "Just some old friends of mine, Tone. Nothing to worry about."

"Didn't look like friends to me..." Tony folded his arms over his chest, a scowl upon his lips. "Cause a scene like tha' in me club again, and I'll fire ya. Ya should be lucky tha' I stopped the bouncer from throwing all three o' ya out. At least tha' lass seemed to have some sort o' sense about her." The Irishman turned back to his customers and filled out some more orders.

Draco picked up the empty brandy glass and filled it, handing it to the customer who had been waiting for it, wishing this night had gone differently.

~/~/~/~/~/

The following day, Harry woke up from his position on the couch and stretched, feeling sore and light-headed.

After Ron, Hermione, and him left Club Spazztic last night, they had gone to a different club down the road and gotten pleasantly smashed, although Hermione was the least drunk of the three to keep her wits about her. Ron might have taken the shots a little too far, though, all the while cursing Malfoy and saying exactly how he would destroy him for insulting Hermione.

The brunette witch beamed from his defending her, although she did scold him for the scene he had caused. Harry was just glad that they had left before it evolved into a worse situation. He hadn't told either of his friends about the look of apology on Draco's face when they left. He supposed it was because he didn't believe he actually saw it. Somewhere deep down inside of him, he knew that wasn't the case.

He stared at a white wall for a few minutes, gathering his bearings. Harry remembered that Hermione had suggested that they go back to her flat, since it was close by and so that none of the Muggle law enforcements would stop them from trying to get back to their own homes that were much farther away.

He looked down on the floor next to the couch, smiling. Ron was passed out cold, wrapped in a quilt and snoring. He quietly sat up and stepped around the ginger wizard towards the single bathroom located near the kitchen.

Moments later, stepping from the bathroom, Harry saw the door to Hermione's room open. She wore a tartan robe and slippers, yawning widely.

"Morning, Harry." She greeted. "How did you sleep?"

"Alright. You?"

"Probably better than you, considering I didn't down five glasses of Chardonnay last night." She laughed. The brunette made her way over to the kitchen, waving her wand so that her coffee maker started itself. "Ron still sleeping?"

"Yea. Still out like a light." He snickered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and whipped her wand over to the living room. Ron's blanket zoomed off of his prone form, folding itself and settling onto her couch. The red head woke with a start, feeling chilled from the sudden loss of warmth.

"I was just getting up!" He complained, yawning.

"Sure you were." Hermione drawled sarcastically. "Now what do you guys wanna eat?"

"Eggs and kippers, if you don't mind." Ron said, standing up and wiping his eyes from sleep.

Harry sat down at a chair at the breakfast bar of the kitchen. "I'll have the same."

She handed them both a glass of green potion as the eggs just began to crack themselves upon the frying pan on the stove.

"What is this, Mione?" Harry asked.

"A clever little potion that gets rid of hangovers."

"Nice! I needed one of these." Ron downed the glass eagerly. His expression told them that he instantly regretted it. "Blegh! It tastes like an inkwell!"

Hermione and Harry laughed. "I was going to warn you." Hermione shook her head, flipping the eggs over with a flick of her wand.

After the three ate their eggs and kippers, Hermione got dressed, seeing as how Harry and Ron slept in their clothes, and lit the wood in the fireplace. Hermione took a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the flames, instantly changing them into emerald green.

"Diagon Alley!" She disappeared.

The other two followed suit.

_A/N: So it seems that Draco and Harry didn't get off to a good start! What will happen when they meet up again? Sorry, lame chapter ending, I know... ^^; I just lost my train of thought on what to write for the remainder of this segment._


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